flats, also silver. Her straight hair hung to her waist, and Fiona wondered how she kept it out of her way while she was sewing.
If, in fact, this was her workroom.
“Are you a designer?” Fiona asked, glancing around.
Lucy tipped her head to the side and looked at her a moment before answering. “Seamstress.”
“But you do your own designs?” Fiona eyed the drawings lined up neatly on the table beside a box of well-used Prisma pencils.
“Yes.” Lucy followed Fiona’s gaze. “Most of my girls want something custom. So that’s usually what I do.”
Fiona stepped toward the table and set down her attaché case. “May I?”
Lucy nodded.
Fiona took a closer look at the gowns that had been sketched with a skilled hand.
“Wedding dresses?”
“Quinceañera.”
Fiona nodded. She’d heard that a girl’s fifteenth birthday was an important milestone in the Mexican culture, much like a coming-out ball.
“These are beautiful,” she said, studying the elaborate beadwork and draping involved. “Expensive, too, I’d imagine.”
Lucy shrugged. “I make a living.” She walked across the room and retrieved a Sunkist out of the minifridge beside the back door. “Want one?”
Fiona nodded, more to be sociable than because she was thirsty. She tried to avoid sugary soft drinks—if she was going to consume empty calories, she preferred them in the form of chocolate.
Lucy handed her a cold orange can and then walked over to the padded office chair behind her Singer 6000. Fiona picked up her case and decided to take a seat on the low beige sofa just across the room. This arrangement put Lucy at a higher vantage point, which Fiona hoped would make her feel more in control. She also hoped Lucy’s proximity to her work would provide a good distraction. Rape victims tended to avoid direct eye contact during the interview and sometimes wanted something to occupy jittery hands. Although Fiona didn’t ask them to detail the attack itself—just the perpetrator—many volunteered the information anyway, which could make for a highly emotional conversation.
Of course, this attack occurred eleven years ago, so Fiona was in uncharted waters here.
She popped open the Sunkist and took a sip. The too-sweet flavor reminded her of middle school and agonizing hours spent alone at the end of a lunch table. She placed the drink on the floor at her feet.
Lucy flipped the light switch on her sewing machine and scooted her chair close to the table. “Sebastian and Vanessa are my sister’s kids. I usually watch them while she’s working.”
“You all live here together?”
Lucy nodded. “My sister, my brother-in-law, my older brother. Plus my parents. Everyone’s on shift today.”
The baby gurgled from the playpen, and Lucy looked over and murmured to her in Spanish.
Then she glanced at Fiona, and her expression hardened. “When Jack called me yesterday, I told him he was crazy.”
“I told him that fifteen minutes ago.”
Fiona had decided to be brutally honest. Lucy seemed like the straightforward type. And Fiona didn’t want her getting her hopes up about what they could accomplish today.
The corner of Lucy’s mouth quirked up. “So he didn’t tell you, huh? That this was a cold case?”
“Not until this morning.”
Lucy shook her head. “Typical Jack.”
Fiona felt a prick of annoyance at the implied intimacy. Clearly, Jack and Lucy had a history of some sort, and Jack had purposely avoided mentioning it. Fiona busied herselfgetting out her drawing board and pencils, the whole time mentally cursing him. She didn’t think she’d ever been so misinformed about a job before.
When the board was ready, she took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. This was her last case, and likely one of her most challenging. She needed to focus.
“That last picture was all wrong,” Lucy said. “I told the cops that over and over, but they didn’t listen.” She tipped her chin up and stared at Fiona with a
If, in fact, this was her workroom.
“Are you a designer?” Fiona asked, glancing around.
Lucy tipped her head to the side and looked at her a moment before answering. “Seamstress.”
“But you do your own designs?” Fiona eyed the drawings lined up neatly on the table beside a box of well-used Prisma pencils.
“Yes.” Lucy followed Fiona’s gaze. “Most of my girls want something custom. So that’s usually what I do.”
Fiona stepped toward the table and set down her attaché case. “May I?”
Lucy nodded.
Fiona took a closer look at the gowns that had been sketched with a skilled hand.
“Wedding dresses?”
“Quinceañera.”
Fiona nodded. She’d heard that a girl’s fifteenth birthday was an important milestone in the Mexican culture, much like a coming-out ball.
“These are beautiful,” she said, studying the elaborate beadwork and draping involved. “Expensive, too, I’d imagine.”
Lucy shrugged. “I make a living.” She walked across the room and retrieved a Sunkist out of the minifridge beside the back door. “Want one?”
Fiona nodded, more to be sociable than because she was thirsty. She tried to avoid sugary soft drinks—if she was going to consume empty calories, she preferred them in the form of chocolate.
Lucy handed her a cold orange can and then walked over to the padded office chair behind her Singer 6000. Fiona picked up her case and decided to take a seat on the low beige sofa just across the room. This arrangement put Lucy at a higher vantage point, which Fiona hoped would make her feel more in control. She also hoped Lucy’s proximity to her work would provide a good distraction. Rape victims tended to avoid direct eye contact during the interview and sometimes wanted something to occupy jittery hands. Although Fiona didn’t ask them to detail the attack itself—just the perpetrator—many volunteered the information anyway, which could make for a highly emotional conversation.
Of course, this attack occurred eleven years ago, so Fiona was in uncharted waters here.
She popped open the Sunkist and took a sip. The too-sweet flavor reminded her of middle school and agonizing hours spent alone at the end of a lunch table. She placed the drink on the floor at her feet.
Lucy flipped the light switch on her sewing machine and scooted her chair close to the table. “Sebastian and Vanessa are my sister’s kids. I usually watch them while she’s working.”
“You all live here together?”
Lucy nodded. “My sister, my brother-in-law, my older brother. Plus my parents. Everyone’s on shift today.”
The baby gurgled from the playpen, and Lucy looked over and murmured to her in Spanish.
Then she glanced at Fiona, and her expression hardened. “When Jack called me yesterday, I told him he was crazy.”
“I told him that fifteen minutes ago.”
Fiona had decided to be brutally honest. Lucy seemed like the straightforward type. And Fiona didn’t want her getting her hopes up about what they could accomplish today.
The corner of Lucy’s mouth quirked up. “So he didn’t tell you, huh? That this was a cold case?”
“Not until this morning.”
Lucy shook her head. “Typical Jack.”
Fiona felt a prick of annoyance at the implied intimacy. Clearly, Jack and Lucy had a history of some sort, and Jack had purposely avoided mentioning it. Fiona busied herselfgetting out her drawing board and pencils, the whole time mentally cursing him. She didn’t think she’d ever been so misinformed about a job before.
When the board was ready, she took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. This was her last case, and likely one of her most challenging. She needed to focus.
“That last picture was all wrong,” Lucy said. “I told the cops that over and over, but they didn’t listen.” She tipped her chin up and stared at Fiona with a
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